


Burying The Past

by blakemusPrime (BlakemusPrime)



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Universe - Fandom, drabble - Fandom, gambit - Fandom, remy lebeau - Fandom
Genre: Comics, Daddy Issues, Drabble, F/F, F/M, Fan Comics, Gay, Gen, M/M, Marvel 616 (Freeform), Marvel Universe, Multi, New Orleans, Orphan - Freeform, Other, Pride, gambit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlakemusPrime/pseuds/blakemusPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a drabble from an RP account I have.  It depicts the character in his earlier days.  </p><p>Giles is the son of Gambit, Remy LeBeau and Jean Grey.  He has inherited Remy's kinetic charging abilities, along with Jean's psychic aptitude.  He also inherited Remy's "devil eyes", but instead of the irises being red, they are a brilliant blue set in black.</p><p>This drabble begins with Giles returning to New Orleans to face down some old demons.  There is a flashback scene as he walks through his old abode, and a surprise finding of old letters from his father at the end.  The drabble was set in place to lessen the animosity he has pent up toward Remy...  </p><p>Also, Ms. Linda talks some sense into Giles about his sexuality, may she rest in peace.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burying The Past

Giles had decided to take a trip after his visit with the Director.  Seemingly, he was granted freedom, granted the world was not in mortal danger.  The sleeper mutant army had not made any moves and there had been no signs of it happening immediately.  Thus, Giles took his new found freedom out for a joy ride.

He didn’t know why, but he found himself in New Orleans.  That was a lie.  He was there to see Ms. Linda.

She was a little old lady who ran a boarding house down by the Bayou.  She was a tough old bird.  No one ever crossed her, or spoke ill of her.  Her philosophy had always been to never get mad at accusing parties, but to get even.  In Giles’ younger days, she had been the only thing he could call family.

He walked out of the growth around the Boarding House, remembering it as it had been in earlier days, when Ms. Linda had been alive to keep it up.  He walked up the back steps, listening as the years had aged them so; they complained, moaning and creaking at the weight being pressed upon them.

He came into the kitchen, taking in its dilapidated state; cobwebs and dust its only upkeep for the past 10 years.  He stepped through the grime lightly, reverent to the memories it held for him.  Next he was swept into the foyer, eyeing the desk that checked people in and out.  He smiled, remembering how she would make him carry the tenants’ bags up to their rooms.  He would always make sure to charge the clasps of their suitcases before he would leave if they didn’t tip him.

Now that he was older, he never understood why she ever put up with him.  He was a holy terror, and much more than that when he found his kinetic powers at the age of 12.  He looked over to the windows, watching the dust motes swirl and dance in the sunlight.  He walked through the Boarding house, coming into her room.  He strode to her dresser, opened it up and pulled out one of her aprons.  He smiled, and folded it over his arm.

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His memories brought him back to a day when he was 15, and a moment that he would carry with him for the rest of his life...

 “Guilliaume LeBeau!!  If you don’ come down heah’ right’ dis instan’ Imma tan yer hide pret’ier dan dem gators down at da Bayou!”  She bellowed up the stairs at him.

He slammed the door as he came out of his room.  He knew she wasn’t lying.  It was either do as she said or someone would be wearing his hide in place of an alligator skin purse.  He trampled down the stairs, audibly displaying to her his unsatisfaction of being called away from his room.  The light in the kitchen streamed out, a smell of gumbo wafting up to his nose.  He swirled into the room, abrasively pulling the chair out from under the table, throwing himself in it and laying his head on the table, putting his arms around it to shut out the light and Ms. Linda.

“Oooh weee, boy!  Done come and get’ yew a whiff dis heah’ gummboo.”  She cackled softly as she stirred the pot.  The Boarding House was empty, business had been slow for them that winter.  Her grey hair was pulled back under a bandana, a handmade apron wrapped around her.  It was her usual garb.  The apron was a part of her every day wear.  It was more than an apron.  To Ms. Linda it was a toolbelt.  She was the one who did all of the housekeeping and maintenance to the Boarding House, except for Giles when she could rope him into it.  He groaned a bit, annoyed at her.

He heard her set the pot off the eye and bang the spoon against its side to clear away any excess sticking to it.  The next instant, she was using the same wooden spoon to whack Giles on the head.  He yowled in surprise and genuine pain, standing up and knocking the chair he was sitting in backwards.

“What the _hell_ is the matter with you Old Lady!”  He yelled at her, turning his inherited demon eyes on her in rage.

She raised a challenging eyebrow at him, and whacked him again on the forehead.  His hands flew to his forehead, nearly doubling over at the pain she had caused him. 

“Wha’ da hell is yew doin’, boy?”  She asked him, returning the favor.  She reached for his chin, him moving away from her.  She finally caught him, putting him in her calloused vice grip.  She lifted her face, looking at him through slanted eyes.

“Boy…  Wher’ yew gon’ n’got dat shiner from?”  She whistled through her teeth and let him go, walking back over to the gumbo.  He had begun to stride out of the kitchen when her voice stopped him.  “I don’ tol’ yew, boy.  Yew is eatin’ dis heah’ gumbo wit’ me tonigh’.”

He stopped, his head down, letting his hair fall over his eyes.  “Yes’m.”  He slumped back in the chair.

She placed a bowl in front of him.  “Dat firs’ lick on yer head was’ fer disrespectin’ Miss Linda.  Da second one fer yer pret’y black eye.”  She was speaking of the bruise around it, not his actual eye.  “I don’ wen’ n’ told yew, Guilliaume LeBeau, yew’s gon’ hafta be good, or theys gon’ com’n’ take yew away.”

She looked at him squarely as she spoke, eating her gumbo at the same time.  He squinted his eyes at her, challenging her.  “You don’ wan’ me here no ways, Ms. Linda.  Why you tryin’-“  He winced and shut his mouth as she raised the wooden spoon at him, her eyebrow raised again, challenging him to keep going.

“If’n I didn’ want yew round, Guilliaume LeBeau, I wouldn’ keep goin’ back to da damn orphanage e’er time you up n’ cut out on me.”  She laid the wooden spoon down, and continued eating.  She wasn’t much for words, and as such, what she just said took Giles by surprise.  “Now, yew gon’ answer me a’for I hafta to hitchyew upside da head ‘gin?”  She snapped, taking a bite of gumbo.  “Where yew gon’n’ got dat shiner from?”

He ate tentatively, keeping an eye on her and the wooden spoon.  “I done went n’ got it from that damn school you make me go to.”  She smiled up at him as he said it, the wrinkles in her face adding character to her sharp edged personality.

“Hmm.  Least dat means yews’ a goin’.  Dat school is fer yer own good, Giles.”  She finished up her gumbo, moving from the table, beginning her clean up.  “Means yew be able ta’ leave heah’ one day.” 

He huffed, being obstinate to her wisdom.  “Anywho.  Wha’ yew go’n’do ta make someone do dat ta such a pret’y face.”  She asked him, looking over her shoulder at him as she scrubbed dishes in the sink.

He sat in silence, eating his gumbo.  He wouldn’t tell her, but it was delicious. 

“Boy, I is talkin’ ta yew.  Yew’d best git ta answerin’.”  She had her face set in expressions of anticipation.

He sighed, slid back.  “Because I’m different, Ms. Linda.  That’s why.”  He looked up at her, his eyes glowing with emotion.  He didn’t have anyone else.  Ms. Linda was all.  She knew he wasn’t talking about his eyes.  She had been taking care of him on and off since he was 5 years old.  He was now 15.  People had grown accustom to his demon eyes.

She wiped her hands on a dish towel and came to sit at the table again.  He couldn’t move his eyes from her’s, scared if he lost that anchor, he’d lose his control and go over the edge of his emotions.  She crossed her arms in front of her, looking down at them.  “Hmm.”

“I nev’r thouh’ yew’d say anyt’ing to me.”  She mused.  His eyebrows knit in confusion.  “Yes, yew’s a mutant, boy.  People ‘round heah’ know dat.  Most of ‘em don’ care, eith’r way.”  She looked up at him then.  “But yew’s differen’ in anoth’r way.”  She didn’t look mad, just sad.  He watched her, holding his breath as she crossed around the table to him.  She caught his chin again, softer this time, tender.

“Don’ you let no one tell yew yew is dirty, or not good enuff because yer gay, Guilliaume LeBeau.”  She spoke softly to him, tilting her head in concern.

His mouth opened.  He caught her hand.  “Ms. Linda….”  He couldn’t continue.  Tears welled over and streaked down his face.  She caught him up, and hugged him close.  His arms wound around her, clinging to her.  He had never verbalized anything to anyone, yet the boys at school knew and they terrorized him for it.

Ms. Linda knew, and she loved him for it.  He grasped her, sobbing.  She caressed his hair, shh’ing him.  He let himself go, and let her be there for him.  When he had quieted, she took his face between her hands.  “Guilliaume LeBeau.  Yew’n’I both kno’ yews able to whoop dem boys to town n’ back.”  She swiped a few tears away from his cheek.  “Nex’ time dey come’n start in on yew, yew jus’ take a page from ol’ Ms. Linda’s book.”  She smiled at him.  “Don’ get mad.  Get even.”  She winked at him, and brought her apron up to dry his face.  “An’ den you tell ‘em yews tha pret’iest boy dis side de Bayou, and yew’s takin’ numbers!”  She cackled then, the crow’s feet appearing beside her eyes.  He smiled, feeling the best he had in years, laughing with her.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 He walked back out through the kitchen, taking a small path through the brush.  He came to a willow tree, swaying in the wind.  Near its bough was a tombstone.

 “Ms. Linda  -Tough Old Bird Til The End-“

He smiled.  “Ain’t it ta tru’h, Ms. Linda.”  He could still conjure up the accent when it was acceptable.  He saw as the sun caught in a stray tear as it fell away from his cheek.  He sucked in a breath and wiped his face clean of nostalgic tears.  He began his walk back to town as he heard something fall to the ground.

He looked back over his shoulder, spying a small stack of what looked like letters tied together.  They must have fallen out of the apron.  He picked them up.  On the first one was his name, written in Ms. Linnda’s handwriting. 

“Dear Giles.

I thought you’d come and visit the old woman who put up with you for so many years, but I guess you’re caught up in wherever life has taken you.  I hope you’re off somewhere, happy.  Maybe even have a handsome young man at your beck’n’call.

My bones are weary, Giles.  I thought I’d tie up some lose ends today and send you some old letters.  A man used to come to the Boarding House when you were younger.  A man who had red eyes, not much different from yours.  He’d give me money, and tell me hopefully it would help take care of you.  I was saving it up, trying to start you some savings for college.  I guess things don’t always turn out as we planned.  But everything he ever sent is here.

He only gave me one name, Gambit.

Love,

Ms. Linda Faye.”

Giles face was slack.  He looked up from the letter and blinked, trying to dissuade the tears that where building.  Behind Ms. Linda’s letter was a host of envelopes, all having the words “For Giles” written on them.  In them was money and aces, for good luck he supposed.

“Hmm.”

He pocketed the letters back into the apron and slung it over his shoulder.


End file.
